


King of Ghosts

by orphan_account



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Brutality, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/M, First Time, Nichel, Sexual Content, Supernatural Elements, Torture, Violence, percabeth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 21:32:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6210904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right after Gaea's fall, Nico di Angelo, feeling lost and rejected, voluntarily secludes himself from the rest of mankind and pursues a career of monster hunting to spite his father. However, merely ten years after his seclusion, a new evil rises out from the depths of the Underworld, causing him to put thoughts of a premature retirement on hold. Over the course of a few weeks (or months, haven't really thought this one through yet!), the Son of Hades is forced to reconnect with all of his old friends from his past life, and fulfill his destiny as a child of the Big Three. He also finds himself falling for a certain redheaded Oracle along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic guys! All of your thoughts and your opinions are greatly appreciated.

Lawrence, Kansas.  
Sometime around midnight.

There was a slight mist in the air, coating all of the cars parked on the curb with a thin sheet of dew. Most of the homeowners were asleep by now, curtains drawn tightly across their windows, and doors all locked. It was unwise to leave any entrances unsealed and unchecked in the night, even in a sleepy town like Kansas. Strange things oft occurred at night.

Mr. Salamanca, a middle-aged man of Mexican descent, was walking up the street. He had been planning on going back home, but there had been other ‘distractions’ keeping him company while his family slept. ‘Distractions’ that were a matter of life and death. He turned right at No. 127, and waltzed up to his front door. His was the only house that was not locked. After all, you’d have to be a bloody fool to fuck with Mr. Salamanca. 

The man took the utmost care to make it up the steps to his son’s room, without making even the slightest bit of noise. He gently pushed open the door, and could see his little baby boy all wrapped up in his blankets, sleeping soundly in his cot. Mr. Salamanca smiled at that lovely sight, yet he couldn’t help but feel that something was amiss. Something big had just happened here. He walked briskly towards the master bedroom, eager to check up on his wife. He forgot to close the door to his son’s nursery in his haste.  
When he got to the master bedroom, he quickly peeked through the small opening of the door. He was surprised to find that his wife was not on her bed, but was lying slumped on the floor just beside the door. With great fear and trepidation building in his heart, he inched his way slowly to her prostrate figure. He kneeled down next to her, and was astonished to see the pool of blood around her head, circling to form a halo of sorts. He slowly turned her over, and let out a soft scream from between his bloodless lips. Her eyes had been gouged out, and her neck had been slit. Her once beautiful face was now a red ruin.

Mr. Salamanca got up, and rushed out of the room, suddenly aware of the cloying and sickly sweet odor emanating from his wife’s dead body. That was surely something new. He took the steps three at a time, forcing himself to make it to the house phone on the wall of the living room, to make a call to a person who would most definitely be of no use. He barreled through the room, and almost threw himself at his house phone. He could only wish that this was all a bloody nightmare. Just as he picked up the phone to dial 911, he noticed the presence of another figure in the room. The figure had had his back turned to Mr. Salamanca, and was looking through the front windows of his house with his hands clasped behind his back. Salamanca threw out an arm towards the small table beside the house phone, and deftly opened one of its drawers, revealing a loaded handgun inside it. 

It was not his gun, but he was pretty sure that its owner would not have minded much of him using it. After all, that prick was long gone, buried more than six feet deep into the ground. Salamanca closed his fingers tightly over the grip, and brought it out of the drawer with alarming ferocity. He was a short, but stout man, and he fought like the devil. He aimed the trigger at the figure, eager to avenge the death of his wife by offing this son of a bitch. “Say your prayers fool. Papa’s about to send you to hell!” He yelled. The other figure remained motionless, but had decided to reply to Salamanca’s warning: “That’s funny. Does my father know that I’m about to pay a visit home, too? I haven’t said my prayers in a long time, pal, so if you’re one of those freaks who get off on forcing other people to yabber and slobber incoherently about the gods, then I’m afraid that that train has long left its station”, the strange man offered, with a hint of derision in his tone. 

Mr. Salamanca was left speechless. Most of his victims would have pissed their pants in his mere presence, but this dickhead sure was something else. Probably some dumb teenager who thinks he’s invincible, he thought. Then again, most of what the boy had just said to him had sounded like pure gibberish, especially the ‘gods’ part. That sounds like something a hormone-driven teenager would say too, he reassured himself. A hormone-driven teenager who had the balls to break into his house, and kill his lovely wife. His lovely Anna. He switched off the safety on his gun, and growled. “Look, you freak. I don’t know what kind of shit you’ve been smoking back at school, but you have just made a grievious mistake here. You broke into my house, and you killed my wife! It’s time to pay!!” Salamanca pressed his finger hard on the trigger, and fired thrice. He reopened his eyes to find the figure still standing in front of him, with his back still to Salamanca, and wreathed in the shadows provided by the curtain beside the window. 

Suddenly, the man let out a loud yell, as the gun seemed to have caught fire in his hands. He dropped the handgun, and it simply disappeared in a pool of shadows. His jaw dropped, and he looked up at the other man in the room. He had finally turned to face him, and was all trussed up in a black trench coat. He was tall and lean, but his face was still shrouded from Mr. Salamanca’s view. The Mexican clenched his fists tightly, veins bulging in the temples of his forehead, and lunged towards the other man. Just when he had thought that he had the figure within reach, the other man had seemed to dissipate into the shadows. Salamanca, jaw wide open, made a wide circle around the room, before feeling something materialize behind him, and received a sharp kick to the back of his left leg, shattering his tibia bone in the process.  
Salamanca let out a loud bellow of pain, but was brutally silenced by a hard blow to his right eye. He fell flat on his back, the back of his head hurting him the most. The stranger stood over him, legs wide apart, and brought out a glass bottle filled to the brim with blood-like liquid. He unsealed the bottle, and splashed some of its contents towards Mr. Salamanca, which caused him to squeal in pain like a pig. He tried to get up, into a more respectable position, but was violently shoved back by the stranger. The stranger splashed even more of the ominous scarlet liquid onto him, and Salamanca’s clothes had seemed to have dissolved, as the liquid burrowed deep into his flesh, and mixed with his blood. The stranger pulled him up roughly by the collar of his shirt, seeming to have effortlessly lifted a two hundred- pound man above the ground, and hurled him towards the opposite wall of the den. Salamanca hit the wall, feeling more pain at that exact moment than any other time in his life. His sobs of regret were soon turned into shrieks of further agony as the other man splashed all of the liquid in the bottle onto him. 

Just then, the stranger threw his bottle down hard onto the ground, causing it to shatter into a hundred pieces of glass. He brandished a short, curved knife which was made of Stygian iron, and inched carefully over to the wounded and defeated Mr. Salamanca. The Mexican, still wishing for answers, placed his hands out in front of him, and said; “Please, before you kill me, at least tell me why you took away my Anna from me. She was my heart, my soul, and everything I did, was for her, and her only.” The other man snorted, and replied arrogantly; “What you did, was what got her killed today, stupid. Don’t think I don’t know about you, Hector Salamanca, business man-cum-serial killer. It was you, who caused the disappearances of those eight teenage girls, in the past two years, wasn’t it? Don’t think I don’t know what you did to them too, you fucking bastard. You tortured them, killed them, and drained all of their blood!!!” The stranger clasped his free hand around a table lamp, and brought it down hard onto Mr. Salamanca’s skull.  
The table lamp broke upon the impact. “But the worst part has gotta be the fact that you were feeding your wife and your son on their blood, in an effort to turn them, just like how you almost got turned years ago. What’s the matter Hector, did you make a deal with the devil to turn them? In exchange for more whores and more drugs to waste your time on? Answer me dammit!!” The stranger yelled as he brought his knee down hard into Hector’s face, breaking his nose at the same time. “Whatever your reasons were, it’s all at an end now. You’re gonna be spending a long time in hell, sicko! So while you’re busy diddling all the demons down there like the slut you are, go ahead and tell them all that Nico di Angelo sent you, okay.? He made you feel pain by sprinkling some Phlegethon water on you. And trust me; you wouldn’t want to know how I got the water in the first place. Any last words, you chinless piece of shit?”

Mr. Salamanca looked up at Nico, and gave him the hardest, most piercing stare that he could muster. “So, that’s what it was all about, huh? This all a matter of revenge? Revenge, for those girls who died? Was one of them of your sister? I’m sure it was.” Salamanca said, laughing heartily at Nico’s face. The water had hurt him, but not by that much. Besides, his ‘enhanced’ instincts and abilities had made his body (and his willpower) durable to any sort of strain. He only stopped laughing when he heard Nico laugh too. 

That was when he heard the creaking sound of someone, a person with small feet, gradually inching down the steps. “Not my sister, but a close friend of one of my clients. I usually don’t deal with ‘your’ sort, for I’m more into the paranormal line, but I just had to make an exception after I heard of the freakish ‘social experiments’ that you were carrying out on members of your family.” The creaking sound grew louder, as whoever it was descending the steps was evidently about to reach the den. At that point, Hector had wished for the ground to just open up and swallow him, much like it had done to the handgun. Nico cleared his throat, and continued with his speech. “The Phlegethon water did not hurt you much, I know, but that’s because it’s only supposed to work more effectively on demons, and the dead. Speaking of which, I’m still kinda surprised that you did not even enquire after your own son. You shouldn’t have left the door open like that, old man, without even giving ‘it’ a little kiss.” At that part, Nico’s face grew into a large, malicious smile, and Salamanca was left in no doubt as to what was descending the steps. 

His baby boy, Ignacio, who had only just learnt how to walk less than three days ago, was practically sprinting towards his father. Only it wasn’t really Ignacio. Hector did not know what else to call his son, whose face was all black, almost as if it had been burnt, with eyes that were whiter than milk, and sharp fangs protruding from its mouth. His skin was cold to the touch, and just being in his presence had caused Hector’s bladder to let go. His mouth was moving up and down, trying to formulate words and failing. His hands were shaking as he took his child into his arms, and brought it closer to him as it prepared to eat his face off. Hector was weeping openly, out of pain, and out of fear. “It’s touching really, to see a father and son bond like that”, Nico said emotionlessly, “It’s a pity that I’ll have to kill wittle ‘Ignawcio’ again. But first, Hector, bear witness to the fruits of your labor. Bear witness to the power that I, King of Ghosts, have over your family!”

**Author's Note:**

> If this is any good, I promise that there will be more to come!


End file.
